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Disclaimer:— MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to 'Xena: Warrior Princess' and I have no rights to them.
Note:— This is the first in an occasional series of short frame-stories related by Joxer. The opening section is self-contained, but the rest of the story is told from his point of view. Sharp readers may recognise the author who gave me inspiration for this method.
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'Joxer Speaking'
A Mead-from-the-Cask had been holding forth in the bar-room of the 'Crossed Sais' on the local democratic elections for the Oligarchy. His opinion had started with a mere question of the rights of the hoi polloi as against those of the refined classes, especially the Aristocrats who made up the ruling Oligarchy. However, as his intake progressed his opinions crystallised and became forthright and challenging—perhaps even bordering on the treasonable. The genial Host of the establishment, always on the lookout to hold the best interests of his customers at heart, also relished the chance to tell an unlikely tale at the least opportunity. So he carefully moved the empty tankard in front of the angry Mead-from-the-Cask out of reach, smiled happily and began.
"I know a good story about an election for the Athenian Council that happened some time ago. Xen—"
"Why'd you have a flattened colander in a frame hanging above the bar?" This from a young Red Wine and Splash who was obviously uninterested in any story.
"Never mind why I put it there." The grey-haired Host grumbled shortly. "An' it ain't a colander, it's a classic armoured breast-plate guaranteed to stop the strongest sword-blow. Now, about Xen—"
But the Red Wine and Splash was not to be diverted that easily.
"Looks like a colander. Has holes in it. You can't say it's a metal plate or dish—not with holes in it." He was a man of few ideas, but those few were deeply ingrained. "Not with holes, y'can't."
"Will you shush a moment, I'm trying to tell a story here."
"Those are holes. Now, if it ha—"
Mine Host, completely disregarding polite deference to a customer, carried straight on with his tale, like a company of hoplites over-running a Persian outpost.
"So, as I was sayin', Xena —"
"Who's Xena?" This from a White Wine and Lemon, a new drink that was all the rage around the Chalcidice district that year. He had been slumbering quietly at the end of the bar, but the Host's voice had woken him.
Thus questioned the tavern-owner took full advantage of this slip-up on the sleepy customer's part. Over a soft susurrus of groans from the rest of the patrons, he started anew.*
"I'm glad you asked. Xena was a Warrior Princess forty years or so ago who roamed the known world, and a great deal of the unknown world too, lem'me tell you. But what I want to relate is a little incident that happened in Athens, oh, about thirty-five years ago. She was stayin' there for a holiday with her constant companions Gabrielle and Joxer—that's me—; well, Gabrielle was more constant, I suppose, than me, but ya get the idea. Now, on a sunny morning in Summer we were all walking along the main street while I explained the history of the Acropolis to them —"
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"— an' that's why it's called the Erechtheum."
"Izzat so? I'm thrilled."
"The Porch is beautiful, though. Those standing female figures instead of columns are a stroke of genius. Thanks, Joxer."*
The three figures were walking casually along one of the main thoroughfares of the greatest city in the world (yes, yes, what about Rome—I know, I know! But have you ever been there? The smell's an' dirt are appalling, especially in the heat. Don't go.). The two women warriors, one tall dark and mean; the other petite blonde and beau—pleasant, walked together. Their guide danced—strode purposely like a valiant soldier in front, waving his arms aroun-pointing out the sites of interest.
"Is someone payin' ya to annoy us, Joxer?" The Princess was beginning to suffer 'work of art' overload after a long morning. "Or are ya doin' it yourself, just outta spite?"
"Come on, Xena." Gabrielle laughed, like a series of silver bells in sweet unison. "You sound like a traveller accompanying Pausanias round a corner an' sayin' — 'Oh Gods, not another work of Cultural Beauty and Artistic Value!'."
The Princess considered this a moment, then took the subject to heart with a will.
"I'd like ta kick Pausanias's butt, is what I'd like ta do." She ruffled her dark locks viciously. "Writing all those scrolls about the artistic wealth of the nation, an' then tellin' everyone exactly where to find the damn things. Gods, I despise that man."
The blonde Amazon, walking slightly ahead of her crotchety friend, suddenly saw the perfect change of subject rapidly approaching along the street towards them.
"Hey, Joxer, get outta the way. Here comes Kritias an' his pals. Probably lookin' to dupe more voters into putting him on the Council."
"Hello friends, well met." The tall dark-haired man threw a fold of his toga round a bare shoulder with a flourish, accompanied by a sneer. "No doubt you have been ascertaining the feeling of the hoi polloi towards myself. I feel I can say, without pride, that I have every likelihood of being voted in this year. You I think, Xena, would be well advised to return to your womanly duties in the kitchen, and leave the running of the country to those capable of doing so."
Kritias was an upholder of the right of the privileged few to hold absolute political power over the many. And there were significant portions of the Aristocracy who agreed with his views. Xena wasn't one of them. She had been challenging his authority and position over the last few weeks, and he was growing increasingly angry with her interference. He was also, like, one of those people so wrapped up in the vision of their own superiority they had no true grasp of reality anymore, y'know the sort. He had no idea of Xena's history; who she was; or what she was capable of. It never occurred to him for a moment he was about to get his butt kicked by a Princess, an Amazon Queen, and the greatest Warrior of our times, even if I say so myself.
"As you see I am well supported by these military men." Kritias regarded the group of ten or so men in uniform surrounding him. "They have been recruited from the best regiments for my especial protection. Laches, my way seems to be impeded by these persons—see to it."
The road was wide, as was the pavement we were standing on; plenty of room for everyone, but he would have it he was being crowded—big mistake.
Two of the hulking brutes accompanying him stepped forward, with what I believe are termed threatening gestures. Well, they raised their fists and grunted—which was enough for the ladies, and Joxer the Mighty. I bent—Joxer knelt quickly on all fours in front of one of the advancing thugs, who promptly fell over me—him. As the thug careered forward his chin connected against a closed Amazon fist with a horrible crunch, and he fell gently to the paving slabs to take no further part in proceedings.
The other bodyguard—a tall thickset muscular character who looked as if he could fight a Minoan bull to a standstill, lumbered on towards Xena. His intention was obviously to beat her to a pulp with one hand tied behind his back, then boast about it in his local drinking-den that evening—poor soul. Joxer the Fearless scrambled forward and managed to grab his left ankle and hang on, like a bad case of dandruff, for all he was worth.
This selfless action gave the Warrior Princess that much-needed chance to defend herself. She kicked his shin viciously, stomped on his toe with her heavy boot, then, when he bent forward in agony, gave him an Amazon kiss—she butted his forehead with her own head, almost like a boxer's punch. A ploy she'd been taught by Gabrielle—blonde, beautiful, and as aggressive as an Egyptian asp when riled. His head snapped back; he gave his attacker one short glance of amazement, then crumpled to the ground unconscious beside his mate. Xena tossed her black locks in contempt, and gazed around with a broad sneer.
"Anybody else wanna play?"
Apparently everyone else suddenly found they had important engagements elsewhere. Before you could say 'Owned' the senator found himself standing alone on the wide pavement. The only sign of his former bodyguard platoon a commotion in the distance as they thrust passing citizens aside with plaintive cries in their rush for safety—safety in their minds at the moment, I bet, probably being the border of Thessaly some fifty parasangs or so to the North.
Kritias, of course, was now in your actual 'delicate position'. And Joxer at least, as he stood up with a grin of triumph to his friends, could see the man would need all his supposed political skills—an' then some. The Warrior Princess was not a happy Warrior Princess. And the Amazon Queen too looked as if whatever Xena was going to do would be alright with her. Joxer stood to the side, not wanting to get in anyone's way.
"So, Kritias." Xena spoke with a soft menace.
"So, Kritias." Gabrielle's tone was more sorta disdainful, and the look in her gorgeous green eyes would'a made a minor God or Goddess run for cover.
"So, Kritias." I sai—Joxer added his three obols-worth to the conversation. He liked to back-up his warrior companions with his strong presence.
"Er,— er." Kritias was non-plussed. (See, I do have an education; that's a fancy word.)
In another moment the citizens of Athens were treated to the sight of a fully togaed Senator running for all his worth, and his life, along the road. Although heavily built he found a surprising turn of speed and disappeared almost as fast as his companions had.
Then we were alone. Xena; Gabrielle; and Joxer the Mighty.
"Well, girls, good job I was here t'help, eh?"
"How about goin' to that Inn you were talking about, Gabrielle? I feel thirsty for some reason. Goodbye Joxer, see ya tomorrow—I'm sorry t'say."
"Yeah, it's just along this road then down the left-hand street. You'll love the pickled octopus, Xena. Bye, Joxer, see ya around."
And that's how the Mightiest warrior in the world once more saved Xena, the Warrior Princess; and Gabrielle, the Amazon Queen, from imminent death.
Gods, he's good.
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Notes: —
1. susurrus. A soft whispering or rustling sound.
2. Erechtheum, or Erechtheion. A small temple on the Acropolis, still extant, with a famous 'caryatid' porch.
3. Pausanias. A Greek traveller and geographer who lived and wrote around 150 AD. (but what's 100 years or so in Xena's world?). Famous for his 'Description of Greece', a lengthy work which describes his first-hand experience of travelling throughout the country.
4. Joxer's voice may not be quite right yet, but I'll work on it in future stories.
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